


shock me sane

by scepticallyopenminded



Series: 30 Day Lyrics Challenge - 2017 [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dark, Gen, Spells & Enchantments, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 18:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12989733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scepticallyopenminded/pseuds/scepticallyopenminded
Summary: There wasn’t much that Lydia had ever attempted that she wasn’t good at.She could roundhouse kick a werewolf enough to make them stumble while wearing heels (her, not the ‘wolf), knew how to throw a knockout punch, was pretty good with a good and even a crossbow. Her specialty was knife throwing, something she even beat Allison at, but she could do hand-to-hand combat with the best of them, and had with supernaturally-strong creatures. She knew how to fight, had come out the winner against much more powerful enemies than herself.Which is why she didn’t know why she was having such a fucking hard time with this witch.





	shock me sane

**Author's Note:**

> from Cruel by Tori Amos:
> 
> "Even the rain is sharp like today/As you sh-sh-shock me sane"
> 
> I don't much like this one but I had such a hard time with the lyric and just spit this out. I don't know why, this was definitely the hardest lyric thus far. Nothing was coming to me at all. But like I told you earlier, here's some more Lydia.

Lydia gasped as she woke up.

*

There wasn’t much that Lydia had ever attempted that she wasn’t good at. She’d had a brief fling with basketball in elementary school and while not many seven-year-old’s show any talent at sports anyway, _she_ was exceptionally bad, and had managed to break two girls’ noses, missed the ball every time it came toward her, and once made a shot at the other team’s basket.

She’d quit after that year, basketball obviously not her calling.

Everything else, though; she’d excelled at the piano, enough that at age eight her teacher had called her a prodigy and suggested to her parents that she should look into Julliard. She was now a math major in college at one of the most prestigious universities in the country, mainly studying computational biology, after MIT had offered her a full-ride when a paper she’d written on differential equations and their possible applications to modern medical science had been published. And she was a top linguist, spoke seven languages fluently and sometimes did translations in her free time to make extra cash.

So yes, over the years with some training and a lot of on-the-job learning, Lydia had gotten really fucking good at fighting. She could roundhouse kick a werewolf enough to make them stumble while wearing heels (her, not the ‘wolf), knew how to throw a knockout punch, was pretty good with a good and even a crossbow. Her specialty was knife throwing, something she even beat Allison at, but she could do hand-to-hand combat with the best of them, and _had_ with supernaturally-strong creatures. She knew how to _fight_ , had come out the winner against much more powerful enemies than herself.

Which is why she didn’t know why she was having such a fucking hard time with this _witch_.

The witch wasn’t especially strong, in physicality or in powers. Sure, before Lydia usually had backup, had the pack, but she was alone here right now, going to fucking _class_ when this fucking witch had attacked her. She’d known her name, her association with the Hale-McCall pack, _everything_ and Lydia guessed that _this_ was the witch who’d tried to attack the pack a few weeks back, unsuccessfully. They’d lost her, she’d gotten away, and they’d all assumed that was the end of it.

Apparently, she’d tracked _Lydia_ , a missing link, the only one in college out of the state, the only one farther than three hours away from Beacon Hills. Probably because she was a banshee, her only real “powers” those of sensing death and screaming really fucking loudly. Away from the pack, a weak link.

Except Lydia _wasn’t_. She knew how to survive, how to fight, how to _beat_ supernatural creatures. But everything was going wrong; her kicks and punches didn’t reach the witch, too quick. She was dodging the witch’s spells, but only barely. Her knives – which she always carried on her, just in case – were in her _bag_ like an idiot; she usually kept them on her person, but her outfit today made it uncomfortable, and _why_ did she think it was okay to put fashion above safety this _once_? Fuck, and her bag was on the path at least four feet behind her.

She lunged for it, her only hope, eyes turned away for just a moment, and there was a sudden pressure on her chest, like she’d been punched. A surge of _dark_ went through her, and her bag just in hand, her vision faded.

*

“What. The. Fuck,” Lydia said – or, well, no, she _thought_ , didn’t say the words aloud – blinking at the bright light above her. The – the witch, the witch, the –

Stiles was above her, looking down with his eyebrows scrunched, expression akin to anger and worry and – oh, there was Kira, eyes red and puffy, and Boyd, lips pressed together.

And – someone was holding her hand. Her heartrate spiked, pulling her hand away except the grip was too strong, and she looked over and – Allison.

A breath she didn’t know she was holding left her, and she laid her head back down, feeling dizzy and confused and.

Wasn’t she just in Massachusetts?

“Lyds?” she heard Allison say, question, worry evident in her voice, “Lydia, can you hear me?”

Lydia looked up again, picking her head up just enough to get a good view of Allison. She nodded, unsure of speaking.

“Thank god,” she heard from the her left, and. Derek.

Actually, now that she really glanced around, the entire pack was here.

Was here? Or was she in Beacon Hills again?

Wasn’t she just fighting a witch?

“What’s going on?” she croaked – and it was the only way she could explain what happened, her voice cracking in multiple places. Nobody stopped staring at her, nobody laughed, nobody made fun of her as they might usually. She cleared her throat, tried to sit up, Allison’s hands on her immediately to help and.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said from next to her, and she looked over, squinting, trying to figure out what he could be talking about.

“What are you talking about?” she eventually asked when she came up short.

“I was the one who set up the trap for the witch when she was in Beacon Hills, I was the one who screwed up the spell and the reason she got away. She should’ve been done with, not able to come and find you.”

Lydia blinked some more, looking around to the rest of the pack. She felt like she was missing something, something – oh!

“What happened to her?”

“I got her,” Isaac said, “Erica and Malia and I tracked her across Massachusetts; she apparently had some fucking connection with fucking Salem. I got her.”

Lydia didn’t have to ask what “got her” meant, too aware in their world. Except.

“What happened to _me_?”

She still didn’t feel _right_ , wondered if she was hurt. Except the pack was looking around at each other, avoiding her and something definitely wasn’t right.

“What happened to me?” she asked again, firmer this time.

“You – ” Allison started, then stopped, eyes skipping around the pack.

“You were, essentially, dead,” Scott spoke up, swallowing, and _what_.

“What.”

“More in an eternal coma,” Stiles tried next, and he wouldn’t look at her, gaze fixed on the ground.

“Was my heart beating?” she asked, and Stiles winced, shrugging.

“Kind of?”

“I was dead,” she affirmed, then blinked again.

“Am I a zombie?”

“You’re alive,” Erica said, “I can – we can, we can hear your heart. And – your smell. You’re definitely alive.”

“I was dead, and now I’m alive. How?” Lydia asked, suddenly worrying _herself_ because that shit didn’t _happen_. People died and they _stayed dead_.

“It was the spell,” Stiles answered, “You weren’t _really_ dead, I mean. It was just an eternal coma. Kind of dead. But I was able to bring you back.”

There was something Stiles wasn’t telling her, carefully avoiding it and Lydia knew Stiles, knew him very well, probably better than Scott if she was being honest. They talked on the daily, multiple times a day, and their senior year of high school they’d gotten very close.

She knew when Stiles wasn’t telling her something.

She didn’t ask, everyone looking too relieved and she’d ask later. It certainly didn’t feel good; and _that_ was what wasn’t right. There was the darkness, the same darkness she’d felt when the spell had hit her initially, clipped around her heart, pulling her down. It reminded her too heavily of what the others had described had happened after their ice baths. It was worse than the normal heaviness she felt, the weight of death and decay on her soul. It was worse than that.

“Okay,” she said instead, and everyone nodded, glancing at each other again and there was something they weren’t telling her. Whatever the cost of her was, they were going to pay it.

She only hoped it wasn’t enough to kill them all.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at [asocialfoxpaw](http://asocialfoxpaw.tumblr.com)
> 
> don't post my stuff to goodreads thanks!
> 
> see you later


End file.
